


sifting through these ashes

by alphaesque



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deleted Scenes, F/M, what should have happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaesque/pseuds/alphaesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks like shit.</p><p>He’s positive that he doesn’t look any better.</p><p>As if he had muttered his thoughts out loud, she turns to him and frowns, dark lashes fluttering against almost translucent skin. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth before she finally asks the question that’s on her mind, “Do you miss her?”</p><p>Stiles rolls over on his stomach, fingers running absentmindedly through the grass in front of him. ”Everyday.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	sifting through these ashes

**Author's Note:**

> emotional warning: this story contains characters talking about their dead parents
> 
> i wrote this a while ago, but i figured it's finally time to upload it here. because otp and also reasons. 
> 
> (i just really miss allison ok.)

"Does it get better?"

He finds her sitting cross-legged in the field across the from the cemetery. Allison’s face is turned away, her expression obscured by the curls in her hair that blow slightly in the wind when she lifts her chin to stare up at him.

"No," it’s a simple answer to a complicated question, but it’s all he has.

"Thought so," she returns to her previous task, picking at the pieces of grass surrounding her, splitting the blades into tiny slivers that stand out against the dark wash of her jeans.

Stiles considers walking away, considers getting in his car and driving until the weight in his stomach has lessened and his hands have stopped shaking; until the catch in his throat has faded, allowing him to breathe again. Instead, he sits next to her, side to side, knee to knee, and considers that, maybe, this is where he’s actually supposed to be _._

"I never got to say goodbye," Allison isn’t sure why she’s letting this truth slip out, but it’s too late now and she can feel the intensity of his stare bleed in with the warmth of the sun, itching at her skin. "I never got to say goodbye and she tried to talk to me but I was acting like a…brat."

"Al-"

"Don’t," there’s a wry smile that twists at her chapped lips; it’s a mix of self-loathing and guilt that Stiles recognizes all too well. "It’s true. It sucks, but it’s true. I was so mad-  _am_  so mad at her. I’m mad because what she did was selfish. She was my mother and I needed her- I still need her. I loved her so much and she left me.” Stiles watches as she twists the blades of grass into an intricate pattern, something that resembles a celtic knot. Her fingers are shaking as she does this, though both of them pretend not to notice. “I understand why she did it. It was either die by her own hand or someone like Gerard would do it for her because of that stupid fucking code….I just… I don’t want to understand. I want to be angry at her for leaving. I want to be angry at her for Scott. For deciding that protecting me meant more than his  _life_. She knew I loved him. She knew and she was going to kill him. For me.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say; he’s never heard the whole story about Victoria, he’s not quite sure if it’s his place to know the whole story. Yet he can’t stop her now, because he understands the urge to let it all out before you drown.

He wants to reach forward, to comfort her the way he would if this were Scott, but he’s not sure if his touch would be wanted or even welcome.

Allison blinks away the burning tears and swallows the fire in her throat, “The worst part is…I don’t want to be mad at her. I love her, even after all she did. I love her. She’s my  _mother_. I’m just…I’m just mad at myself. I’m so damn mad- at myself, at her, at my dad, at Gerard most of all. I’m mad at everything.” The tears sear down her face and her arms shake, chest clenching with a pain she wishes she could just become numb to. She can feel her pulse throbbing in her fingertips and with a ragged sigh, she leans back against the grass, hair fanning around her as she closes her eyes, allowing the tears to fall.

"When my mom died, I blamed myself. I thought that if I could have been better, been less…me, she wouldn’t have faded so fast. That the disease would just…slow down because I slowed down. I still wonder if I would have been less everything, she maybe would have been able to hold on just a little bit longer."

"Stiles," she reaches forward, long fingers gripping at the muscles in his biceps that hadn’t been there when they first met and squeezes, "there’s nothing you could have done."

"Surprisingly enough, no matter how many times I hear that, it doesn’t actually make things any better." His words are razor blades and she unclenches her grip, moving to drop her hand away. "I’m sorry." He halts her before the comforting warmth of her hand is gone and rests his palm over it, burning her in a way the sun never could. "That was a bit harsh."

"No," when he shoots her an eyebrow raise, she raises her lips in what could be considered an attempt at a smile- he appreciates the gesture, "well, yeah, but I get it. The words are like pretty bandaids, they look nice and cover the wound so people can’t see, only it doesn’t stop it from hurting."

"Yeah," he turns and lets himself really study her for the first time since they’ve become surrogate sacrifices, since he’s had a fox inside of him and they had to fight to get it out.

Compared to the picture of the flushed girl, who’s barely suppressing the laughter bubbling out of her curved lips that graces his caller ID screen, this Allison is only a ghost of who she used to be. There’s a faint downwards pull to her pale lips, a hollowness that has settled in her cheekbones and the dark bags under her eyes (ones they all have once shared) have become caverns.

She looks like shit.

He’s positive that he doesn’t look any better.

As if he had muttered his thoughts out loud, she turns to him and frowns, dark lashes fluttering against almost translucent skin. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth before she finally asks the question that’s on her mind, “Do you miss her?”

Stiles rolls over on his stomach, fingers running absentmindedly through the grass in front of him. ”Everyday.” 

There’s a long pause; both of them lost in their own respective memories.

It should be awkward, lying in a field saying nothing, but oddly enough, this moment in time is theirs alone and the silence rests amicably between them for the time being.

"I’m sorry," Stiles turns to face her even though she’s deliberately looking away this time, eyes squinting in the sun’s setting light, "for dumping this all on you."

"Hey, I sat down, didn’t I? It’s not like I tried to run screaming away and you held me down and forced me to listen."

She rolls her eyes and smiles at the dryness of his tone. With a long sigh, Allison pillows her head in her hands and turns her cheek to face Stiles, studying the moles on his skin and the bags under his eyes with a tiny scowl. She has to fight the urge to reach back towards him, to trail her fingertips down the softness of his sweater and rest her hand against his. 

She fights it because he’s Stiles. He’s Scott’s best friend- dammit, he’s  _her_  friend- and as much as she wants (and, oh, does she want) to intertwine their fingers and rest her cheek against the curve of his shoulder, it’ll ruin the tentative trust they’ve built up and force her to face the truth of all these feelings she’s been pretending don’t exist. 

"Still, thank you."

Stiles nods, shoulder lifting in what could be an accepting shrug. “I almost burnt down my house once,” at Allison’s open mouthed stare, he laughs and gestures widely. “It was the first year after my mom had passed. She used to make these brownies and they were just…really, really good. Dad used to say her brownies could fix anything. We called them the ‘magic brownies’, she always got such a kick out of it.” Allison doesn’t say anything but her hand comes up to rest on his forearm and, once again, the feel of it has him relaxing just a bit more, “Anyways, it was his birthday and he was still so sad. Her stuff was packed away but the empty space was just an even worse reminder, so I decided that if I made mom’s magic brownies maybe we would be happy again.”

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Here I was, small, skinny and so stupid- completely out of my league, might I add- standing on a stepstool attempting to make these magic brownies for my dad’s birthday. Honestly, despite what dad says, I think they would have been pretty good…if I had remembered the timer and knew how to work an oven." Allison’s free hand is cupped over her mouth to smother her sniggering- not that she’s doing a very good job at it by the way her body is shaking against his, vibrating from suppressed laughter at the images he’s put in her head. "Well, long story short, dad comes home, the oven is smoking like crazy, I’m watching Bugs Bunny or something in the living room with the kitchen door open to let the smoke out because logically that’s the thing to do."

Allison nods solemnly, “ _Obviously_.”

"I’m glad someone gets it, because my dad did not. At all. Not only was I grounded for what felt like forever. I also lost my TV privileges because I lied to my baby sitter, Mrs. Henley, and said my dad wanted me home because it was his birthday. I was a convincing little shit as a kid." Allison has given up hiding her laughter, tears are building at the corners of her eyes and the sinking feeling she’s been experiencing all day has been replaced by a sort of maddening, uncontrollable joy. "I mean there was an upside. We got pizza and dad let me stay up later to watch the Mets game. Granted, we had to get a new oven  _but_ ,” he shrugs as if this is to be expected when raising a child, which only sends Allison into another fit of giggles. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sound of her laughter, or how when she smiles, he has no choice but to smile back at her. If he could bottle up this feeling, this small glimmer of pure happiness shared between, he would. It’s special, he thinks as she attempts to cover up her snort by coughing, just like her.

When she finally manages to grasp some sort of control over herself, she squeezes at his arm and rolls over onto her stomach, lips quirking upwards in a small, fond smile. “The first time I learned how to shoot a bow and arrow I almost shot my dad right in the ass.”

Stiles’ lets out what is basically a gasp and a strangled laugh combined into one raspy noise, “This I’ve got to hear.”

She leans slightly against him, hands gesturing as she sets the scene and they lie there until the sun sets over the trees and chilled whisper of the night causes goosebumps on their skin.

"You know," Stiles is leaning up against the Jeep, hands stuffed in his pockets as Allison unlocks her own car and glances at him over her shoulder. He’s stunned for a moment, at the way she looks in the dimming light, her face glowing, eyes bright with no signs of the darkness that haunts them once they close.

Allison steps forward, head tilting to the side at the strange expression on his face. “You okay?” 

"Yeah, fine." She raises her eyebrows in suspicion but lets it pass, because, well, it’s Stiles. "It’s just, next time we should probably just go out for coffee." He pretends not to notice the way her cheeks flush or how she tucks a pesky curl behind her ear, "instead of getting grass stains on our jeans."

She’s not sure why her hands are shaking, but she can’t seem to get them to stop. “I’d like that.”

"Cool," with a salute, he climbs into the Jeep and grins back at her, "then I can tell you the story on how my mom almost brought a monkey back from the zoo with her."

Allison shakes her head at the image, “I can’t wait.”

"It’s a date."

She blinks, her face a mask of both confusion and surprise as he honks twice before driving off, leaving her standing by the open door of her car, heart hammering in her chest, palms sweating against her grass stained jeans. Clearing her throat, she bites at her lip and smiles shyly to no one at all. “It’s a date.”


End file.
